


Lethellan

by ShannaraIsles



Series: Ena'Vun: The Dawn Will Come [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Clan Inquisition, F/M, Gen, I never know what else to add here, Jealousy, Male-Female Friendship, Misunderstandings, Pre-Relationship, Realization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-13 00:24:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10502589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannaraIsles/pseuds/ShannaraIsles
Summary: In which Cullen learns something rather important about the way Velen sees herself, and discovers something a little less favourable about himself.





	

She'd recruited the mages.

  
No, it was worse than that. She'd offered the rebel mages a full alliance, even though their leaders had proven that they had no sense of appropriate action. Fiona had sold herself and her fellow mages into indentured servitude at the hands of a Tevinter magister. The act of a desperate woman, certainly, but it was not the only choice she could have made. And instead of offering punishment, the Herald - _Velen_ \- had offered them all sanctuary with the Inquisition as equal allies.

  
Even now, weeks after the raven had brought the news, it made Cullen's blood boil. How could she have been so foolish? All his warnings had fallen on deaf ears; even her own knowledge of the dangers had not been enough to prevent her from making this terrible mistake. Oh, she had been very clear on her reasons for going to the mages in the first place and, despite his reservations, he had supported her. But he had never thought she would invite the mages to Haven without at least _some_ safeguards in place, _some_ restrictions to contain them. His mind was filled with horrors - images of Haven overrun with demons and abominations, the last hope for peace in Thedas destroyed by the stubbornness of a Dalish mage who knew nothing about the world.

  
Some part of him knew that thought was unfair to her, unworthy of him. He'd had weeks of ruminating on the consequences, of preparing for every worst case scenario that crossed his mind, with no word from the Herald after that first detailed report. Cassandra's periodic updates said nothing of use, only that Velen was increasingly withdrawn and suffering with nightmares. _Well, that makes two of us,_ Cullen had thought on receiving the first of those messages. His own nightmares had returned with the prospect of uncontained mages in his camp, made worse by the knowledge that he was haunted by memory and experience. Perhaps he should ... _No_. He shut that thought down whenever it appeared, weathering the headaches and the rigors, the sleepless nights, more out of sheer bloodymindedness than strength. He would _not_ go back to it. He couldn't allow himself to give in, not after all this time. He would endure.

  
And so he did, focusing on training as many of his recruits as possible in the techniques for Silencing a mage, Dispelling hostile magic. Even if many of them could only lay a Silence that held for a few short seconds, those seconds could be the difference between a dead mage and a living abomination. He threw himself into it, working too long and too hard every day, in the hope that he might be able to snatch just a few hours of dreamless sleep at the end of each. He thought he had burned out all his anger over the foolish decision they now had to live with.

  
Yet when he heard the cheering of the recruits welcoming the Herald of Andraste home, that anger rose to the fore once again. He had to confront her; he had to look into those lovely eyes and see for himself if she regretted her decision. He marched out of the Chantry war room, unsurprised to see Leliana emerging from Josephine's office with the Inquisition's ambassador in tow. Neither woman was precisely pleased with Velen's choices, though they were not as furious as he was. Nonetheless, he imagined that they, too, had a few things they wanted to say to their wayward Herald.

  
The doors opened ahead of them, admitting a blast of icy wind along with Velen and Cassandra. As soon as the elven woman's gaze fell on the trio waiting for her, she let out a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a groan, breaking into a run to cover the short distance between them. Before Cullen could even say her name, he found himself with the flame-haired mage wrapped around him, hugging close, heedless of his armour. The anger died on his still tongue as she released him, turning to greet Leliana in exactly the same fashion.

  
He glanced at Cassandra, concern foremost in his expression, only to find her watching closely as Leliana deftly handed the elf into Josephine's arms. A moment later, Velen stepped back, raising her head to meet their combined gaze with weary, haunted eyes.

  
"There's no point yelling at me," she said, her voice rough with disuse, a testament to the silence she had maintained for weeks. "The decision's been made, and I'm not going over it again. Be as angry as you like, but deal with it on your own time. I can't ... I _won't_ argue with you, any of you. Not today."

  
"The Tevinter mage who assisted -" Leliana began, but Velen shook her head, holding up her hand to prevent what she seemed to know was coming.

  
"Dorian wants to stay and help close the Breach," the elven mage said calmly. "I trust him, for all the reasons I wrote down in that message and more. He can share quarters with me and Sera."

  
Cullen felt his frown deepen. This Dorian Pavus may well have helped her, but he was still an unknown quantity. He was a Tevinter mage, for Maker's sake - surely she understood the danger of allowing such a man into her inner circle? But he knew his reservations stemmed from something far more personal. Helpless hopes encouraged by her flirting, her friendship - hopes he would not allow himself to act upon, yet still indulged in when his mind was quiet. He could not prevent the flicker of jealousy that rose, knowing she had invited another man to share her sleeping quarters. By Cassandra's account, Velen had already drawn close to Pavus, and why shouldn't she? He was a mage; he had saved her life; even the Lady Seeker admitted that he had charm and wit. Why shouldn't she be drawn to him?

  
He surfaced from his thoughts in time to hear Josephine say,

  
"- certain that is wise, Your Worship? We know so little of him."

  
"I know enough to trust that he will not hurt me, or the Inquisition," Velen assured her confidently. "The first of the mages will be arriving in a few days. How soon can we move on the Breach?"

  
"It will take some time to settle them and select those most capable of performing the task at hand," Leliana mused thoughtfully.

  
"Time enough for me to mount a rescue in the Fallow Mire?" Velen asked.

  
"You surely cannot mean to travel again so soon," Cullen heard himself interject earnestly. "With respect, you are clearly exhausted, and we have yet to determine if you suffer any lingering effects from Alexius' time magics."

  
"I'll survive," she insisted stubbornly. "I'm not needed here until we're ready to close the Breach, and our people need me in the Mire. I _won't_ abandon them."

  
"I ... did not mean to suggest that you would," he answered, taken aback by the vehemence in her voice.

  
"We'll leave in the morning," Velen told them. "Now, if you can spare me, I need a bath."

  
She nodded to the four of them and turned on her heel, stalking out of the Chantry as they stared after her. Cassandra shook her head, turning back to find three pairs of eyes all looking to her for some kind of explanation.

  
"Do not look at _me_ ," the Seeker admonished them. "That is the most I have heard her say since Redcliffe."

  
"Apart from her silence, how does she seem to you?" Leliana asked her colleague.

  
Cassandra sighed. "Shaken," she said in a worried tone. "Her experience in Redcliffe Castle has frightened her more than she wishes to admit. The woman who walked into the castle is not the woman who walked out."

  
Josephine let out a strangled gasp. "You do not think she is possessed?"

  
"No." Cullen surprised himself by answering for Cassandra, certain of his reply. "But there are some experiences that will change a person forever."

  
"And thanks to this Dorian Pavus, only two people will ever know what that future looked like," Leliana agreed. "Of those two, only the Herald truly felt everything they encountered."

  
"Velen," Cullen corrected her without thinking. "Her name is Velen."

  
"And after seeing what the world will become if she fails, using her name is more important than ever," Josephine added. "She is not just the mark on her hand."

  
"The mark is what is important," Leliana argued through a disapproving frown. "Without it, the Breach will never be closed."

  
"I do not disagree," Cassandra told the spymaster. "But the woman is just as important as the mark. Hers is the will behind its power. We should make some effort to treat her as more than a tool for change."

  
"The Commander has made more progress there than any of us," Josephine pointed out. "For all their disagreements, I believe I am right in assuming that a friendship has grown?"

  
Cullen blinked, suddenly on the receiving end of three very feminine, very curious looks. "I'm sorry ... what?"

  
"We were saying that you seem best placed to reassure the Herald of her position with us, Commander," Leliana said, her lips twitching toward the secretive smile that annoyed him so much. He had a feeling she knew it did, too.

  
"What are you suggesting?" he asked, wary of that expression.

  
"Talk to her, Commander," Cassandra told him. "She trusts you to speak the truth."

  
"And what, exactly, am I supposed to say?"

  
"I feel sure you will think of something," Josephine assured him with a smile of her own. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have letters to write. Many of our allies will need reassurances of their own in the wake of our alliance with the mages."

  
As she turned to go, the others made their excuses and did the same, leaving Cullen alone in the nave, not entirely sure what had just happened. He had been more than ready to shout his objections to the mage alliance over any excuses offered ... and then a small, flame-haired elf had thrown her arms around him and neatly denied all of them their recriminations.

  
"Infuriating, isn't it?" a smooth, cultured voice spoke from one of the candlelit alcoves. "You prepare a speech, and she cuts you off before you get the first word out."

  
He turned to find First Enchanter Vivienne watching him from the shadows.

  
"She does not need to be reminded of the dangers, Madame," he said, inclining his head to her.

  
"On the contrary, my dear, I believe she has allowed her natural inclination toward freedom from the Chantry rule to override her good sense," the imposing woman argued mildly. "She, who knows nothing of the Maker or Andraste, is setting the Inquisition on a most unsettling course."

  
"Though I may not agree with her decision, Madame, I do not believe she would purposely endanger us all," Cullen countered, wondering why he was bothering. As far as he knew, no one had yet managed to change any of Madame de Fer's stated opinions with argument, reasoned or otherwise.

  
"Indeed." Vivienne sounded amused by his defence of a woman he had been ready to publicly dress down only a few minutes ago. "I do not doubt her intentions, Commander, only her methods. She is startlingly naive when it comes to politics."

  
"This is not politics, Madame Vivienne," he told her, frowning at her insinuations.

  
" _Everything_ is politics, my dear," she assured him coolly. "I would keep a close watch on this Tevinter she has invited into her circle, if I were you. A _most_ unsavoury influence to have sharing her confidences, if I am any judge."

  
His frown deepened, disliking the way the opinion of this pampered, political creature mirrored his own.

  
"I will not deny her a friend, purely on the basis of what _might_ happen," he informed the First Enchanter disapprovingly. "Too many people seem to forget that she is not a symbol, but a being of flesh and blood, with the same needs and desires we all share."

  
"Of course, Commander," Vivienne conceded smoothly. "I merely hope that those desires do not leave her open to unseemly influences. Something to think on."

  
She stepped away, fading back into the shadows of her chosen alcove as Cullen abruptly turned on his heel. He marched out of the Chantry, welcoming the chill of the icy breeze on his face even as he was bathed in the sickly green light of the Breach far above them. How dare she try to convince him that Velen could not be trusted to make appropriate decisions? She, who had only joined the Inquisition because of the power and influence such a position would gain her! He may not agree with this mage alliance, but put into the same situation, he was not wholly convinced he would have acted any differently. Perhaps that was why he had been so angry; perhaps he knew _he_ would not have been able to make such a decision on the spot. Clearly Cassandra had been unable to, and she _had_ been there. It had fallen to Velen - a lone elf, outnumbered, face to face with the human Queen of Ferelden, and traumatised by her journey into the future, who had done what she thought needed to be done.

  
Why was this only occurring to him _now?_ He'd had weeks to think it over, yet it was only in the wake of _seeing_ her again, of recognising that even some of her own gathered circle saw her as weak and easily manipulated, that he even began to consider what it must have been like for her in that moment. The woman he had begun to know over the past months was not the sort to use her own personal feelings to dictate her decisions. One need only look at the companions she had gathered to realise that. Velen made snap judgments about people and stubbornly stuck to them. Yet Solas, Blackwall, Vivienne - three people she clearly didn't trust, one of whom she actively disliked - had all been invited to join the Inquisition, purely on the basis of their individual usefulness to the organisation. Her decision to offer the mages a full alliance should be looked at in the same light, he realised belatedly. They - he, Josephine, and Leliana - had thrust her into a position where she _had_ to make the decision. _They_ hadn't even been able to agree on who the Inquisition should approach in the first place.

  
And she had made the _right_ decision, he conceded reluctantly. If they had approached the templars, what would Alexius have done with an army of indentured mages at his beck and call? Knowing what they knew now of his allegiance to this Elder One, this being who had created the Breach to begin with, it didn't bear thinking about. The alliance was a wise one. The mages had rebelled because of injustices within a Circle that had increasingly become a prison to them. The war had not begun until the templars also rebelled, taking the opportunity to hunt and hound even those mages who did not wish to fight them. Pressed into a corner, blamed collectively for the Divine's death, they had traded that precious freedom for a chance at survival. If Velen had conscripted them, she would only have laid the foundation for another mage rebellion at some point in the future, a rebellion the Inquisition would be forced to take a hand in quelling. By returning their freedom to them, Velen had won their loyalty, while saving the Inquisition from having to decide what to do with the mages when all this was over.

  
Cullen sighed, coming to a halt by the sturdy gates. He was an idiot. The least he could do was apologise for doubting her. He turned back, only to find the Herald of Andraste sitting on the steps he had just walked down. Had he walked straight past without noticing her?

  
"A strange place to be having a bath," he commented, moving to sit beside her.

  
Velen pouted. "Dorian stole my hot water," she said mournfully.

  
Cullen had to make an effort not to smile at this. Evidently the Tevinter did not have the sense to cement his flirting with an unselfish act for her benefit. That made him feel a little better, petty though it was.

  
"I owe you an apology," he said, his voice quiet enough that only she could hear him. "We put you in an impossible situation. I have come to believe that you made the best decision, for all concerned."

  
He had expected her to dismiss the apology, as she so often did, or at least to question his statement. But she did neither, staying silent at his side, watching her worn boots scuffing against the snow. Shaken, that was how Cassandra had described her. Now he had the chance to properly look at her, he could see why. Velen's usually rosy complexion was pale beneath her dusting of freckles, dark bruises under her eyes attesting to more nights spent sleepless for fear of nightmares. But more concerning was her demeanour. In all these months, he had grown used to her unnerving habit of always making bold eye contact, yet here she was, avoiding his gaze to stare at her own feet. She looked small, and lost, and he found himself fighting the urge to wrap his arm about her shoulders. For the first time since they had met, the cracks were beginning to show, and he had no idea how to help her.

  
"You died for me."

  
His gaze sharpened as she spoke, the words falling into the silence between them like rocks into a still pool.

  
"Your report mentioned only Cassandra, Sera, and Leliana," he said, as gently as he could, suddenly intensely interested in what she might have left out.

  
"I _saw_ them die," she said, her voice dull with pain. "If I hadn't stopped to read a guard's journal, I never would have known what happened to _you_."

  
Cullen had no idea what to say. How could he possibly help her come to terms with deaths that now would not happen? He could not even begin to imagine how painful, how confusing, those non-losses must be.

  
"You told me, when we were planning, that Redcliffe Castle could hold out against a thousand sieges," Velen went on. "You were so _sure_. But in that future, you sacrificed the Inquisition in failed attempts to get inside, to get to the truth about what happened to me. Smashed to a pulp against the walls, that's what it said."

  
"Of course I did," he told her, not needing to hear more to be able to respond. It was unthinkable that he would not do everything in his power to save her life, if he believed it might be possible to do so.

  
"But _why?_ " she asked, still unable to look at him. "Why would you be so stupid? Even _I_ know the better strategy would have been to use Josephine's skills and build alliances into a more robust force before trying to take such a strong fortress. Why would you throw your life away like that?"

  
"Because I have a blind spot where my friends, the people I trust and respect, are concerned," he answered truthfully. It was not always a good thing, as evidenced by his inaction in Kirkwall, but in this case, he did not believe that was so. "Quite apart from your being the only person with any hope of closing the Breach, Velen, you are my _friend_. I know myself well enough to know that retrieving you for your own sake would be at the forefront of my mind, should such a thing happen."

  
"And without Leliana to stop you ..."

  
"I would give my life to see you freed," he finished her sentence. "I would fight, and die, to protect you. All of you."

  
Silence fell between them again. He had no way of knowing if she understood what he was saying, but he hoped she had. She needed to know that at least _one_ of the people giving the orders saw her as more than just a tool to be deployed.

  
"You sacrificed the whole clan, just to save me?"

  
The question was soft, almost disbelieving. He frowned, confusion blossoming on his face as he studied her profile.

  
"Your clan joined the Inquisition?" he queried, wondering how she could possibly know that.

  
For perhaps the first time since Redcliffe, Velen's face relaxed into a smile, her eyes finally lifting to meet his.

  
"No, _lethellan_ ," she said softly, the elvhen falling with natural grace from her lips. "The Inquisition _is_ my clan now."

  
His confusion did not lift at this announcement, though his brows ticked up in clear surprise. She let out a short huff of laughter at the look on his face.

  
"I could have run," she pointed out. "Despite this thing on my hand, you all gave me a choice. I chose to stay with you, to try and fix this. When my ... when Clan Lavellan accepted the gifts Leliana's people offered them, I knew I wouldn't be going back to them. I let the Inquisition pay them for the loss of me, and I didn't give it another thought."

  
"You exiled yourself from your people," he realised, horrified that none of them had seen the symbolism in the path they had chosen to deal with her clan's polite enquiries. Then it struck him; Leliana _had_ known what she was proposing. Their spymaster had learned much of the Dalish from the Hero of Ferelden. She had been testing Velen's loyalties, and Velen had clearly passed that test. But at what cost?

  
"I will always be one of the People," the elven mage was saying, passing her fingertips over the green vines that wound over her forehead. "But I no longer belong to a clan. They allowed me to keep the name, and that's all I need, really." She turned her head, smiling more easily now as she watched Flissa flip Seggrit off on her way back to the tavern. "If I run into trouble, I know now that everyone here would give everything to get me out of it. You're my clan, all of you. I was raised, _trained_ , to guide and protect. So that's what I'll do."

  
"Starting in the Fallow Mire," he sighed.

  
"Exactly." Velen nodded firmly. "The Inquisition is an abstract concept, difficult for people to wrap their heads around. No one really knows what it is, what it should look like. But the Herald of Andraste ... She's real, she's flesh and blood and bone. Everyone knows what she looks like, _who_ she is. They can reach out and touch her, and know she's real. I won't abandon our people."

  
Cullen sighed again. He couldn't argue with her. She was making perfect sense, feeling the same way about their gathered following as he did. The only difference between them was that she was in a position to personally see to the safe return of their people from whatever had befallen them in that Maker-forsaken bog.

  
"Cassandra is worried about you," he said finally, not adding that the Seeker was not the only one. He dared not; Velen had shared something deeply personal with him. He didn't feel it was appropriate to mention any hint of how he clung to this friendship between them. Yet, in spite of his care, it seemed that she already knew.

  
"No one needs to worry," she told him, touching her fingers to his gloved hand. "The silence is over, I'm not grieving anymore. I stopped grieving when I saw you all alive and well in the Chantry."

  
Reminded of her unexpected embrace, Cullen cleared his throat, feeling the tips of his ears burning. He wasn't going to admit how much he had enjoyed having her in his arms, however briefly, especially when she was grinning at him like that. Still, he felt his lips curve into a rare smile, glad to know she wasn't in pain over a future they were all determined to make sure never came to pass.

  
"I must admit," Velen added thoughtfully, "I was expecting you to shout at me."

  
He shifted awkwardly, reclaiming his hand to rub at the back of his neck. "I was planning to," he admitted in a reluctant tone. "You rather took the wind out of my sails."

  
She laughed. "That's all it takes, is it?" she teased. "I'll have to remember that."

  
He grimaced, trying not to laugh himself. "Please don't."

  
"Too late," she crowed, delighted with this turn of events. "I know your weakness now, you'll never be able to yell at me again."

  
"I'll find a way," he vowed, rewarded with another giggle from the elven mage at his side.

  
"Ah ... Velen?"

  
They both twisted toward the sound of an awfully cultured voice, coming from her cabin. The Tevinter mage, Dorian Pavus, was visible at the window, clearly bare at least to the waist.

  
"Yes, Dorian?"

  
"This is all terribly awkward, but your delightful Crimson Genevieve appears to have absconded with my robes."

  
"Crimson ...?" Cullen rolled his eyes, growling as the answer came to him. "Sera."

  
Velen laughed again, leaning on him to heave herself up onto her feet. "I'll find her," she promised, her voice bright with amusement. "You deal with him. Friendly, remember?"

  
Sighing, Cullen rose, watching her progress toward the tavern, where Sera was most likely planning something worse than forcing their newest member to prance about in the snow without his smalls. _Deal with him._ That was tempting, but he wasn't about to jeopardise his own friendship with the elf just to mess with her newest friend. Shaking his head, he stepped down to Seggrit's stall, claiming a robe from the pile there with a glare that silenced the merchant's protest.

  
Returning to Velen's cabin, he laid the robe on the windowsill in front of the stark naked mage. Dorian made no move to cover himself, offering Cullen a charming smile as he sipped from a steaming cup.

  
"Why, thank you, Commander," he said gratefully. "Not really my colour, but I'm sure I can make it work."

  
Cullen's jaw clenched, pre-disposed to dislike him not purely because he was of Tevinter, but because of how easily Velen had brought the man into her confidence. He stepped closer to the window, eyeing Dorian from behind an unfriendly scowl.

  
"If you hurt her," he growled quietly, "I will break you."

  
Dorian seemed taken aback for the briefest of moments, leaning closer himself as his brows knitted. "If _you_ hurt her, I will emasculate _you_."

  
Cullen reared back, his mouth opening to protest against the possibility of his ever hurting Velen, only to have the mage speak over anything he might have said.

  
"Do order up another hot bath, there's a good man. She's dreadfully in need of one, you know."

  
Not inclined to continue a conversation he was fairly sure he wouldn't survive unscathed anyway, Cullen turned sharply away, catching the eye of the young elf who seemed to have elected herself the Herald's personal servant, despite Velen's objections. She nodded, skipping away to gather a few helpers to ensure that Velen actually _got_ her bath this time. Despite himself, Cullen smiled. She might not have realised how loved she was, especially by the elves of Haven, but it was plain to see. Perhaps they saw her as a form of Keeper, he wondered, in light of the way she had embraced them, all of them - human, elf, dwarf, even Qunari - as her clan. She had called him _lethellan_ ; he would have to ask Solas what that meant.

  
A familiar cackle caught his attention. He glanced over his shoulder, snorting at the sight of Sera skipping just ahead of Velen, waving what had to be Dorian's small-clothes over her head, both elven women laughing hard enough to make their progress less than quick. As he watched, Velen tackled the Red Jenny into a snowdrift; a moment later, her hand punched up from the snow, small-clothes held triumphantly in her grip. Cullen's laugh died as he remembered just _who_ those smalls belonged to, turning to talk toward the training ground.

  
He needed to hit something.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay for getting to Dorian! He's so much fun to write ... Anywho. As always, the title is gleaned from Dalish itself. If you're reading Dragon Age fanfiction and don't know what it means, I have no words. ~grins~ All the good stuff belongs to Bioware, I'm just playing. Not beta'd, all mistakes are mine. Next up is something to do with In Your Heart Shall Burn, but who knows how long that will take to write?


End file.
